Skipping to Spinsterhood, One Blind Date at a Time

I may have mentioned this before (once, twice, maybe twelve times or more), but I am the only single person at work. I am not pleased with this situation. I tried to put a sex embargo on my staff (we are ridiculously, sickly close and always inappropriate), as in, no one on staff is allowed to have sex until I do. They laughed, especially the couple who got engaged last week ("Yeah, okay BPW. No sex at work, we can do that."). Sigh. I tried.

In my despair, I have gone on two blind dates in the past month or so. The first one, I'm ashamed to say, I met via Craig's List. The tagline on his post said, "Young single dad new to the area." Well, that sold me. I read his thoughtful, funny post and pretty much said, "what the hell" and responded. It should be noted that this is not like me AT ALL. I prefer to meet live people, usually when I'm drunk. You could say that's my M.O. Anyway, young dad and I exchanged emails and started IMing; then he wanted to -- gasp! -- talk on the phone and possibly meet. Oh dear god; I really hadn't been planning on that.

I put off the date as long as I could. I'm not sure why -- we had a lot in common and the conversation was so easy, but still the prospect of actually dating someone was more than I could handle. But I did relent, and we decided to meet at the very awesome Ringling Museum.

We had a great time, never running out of things to talk about. I had been through the art museum before, but I had a totally different experience with him because, being a professional artist, he was able to point things out in these giant Renaissance paintings I never would have noticed. So, that was cool. But I just didn't feel anything. I did feel kinda bad because I had responded to his post, so one would think that I was interested in a relationship. But one would be wrong.

I started screening my calls because I didn't know how to tell him that I wasn't "there", and things kinda petered out after that.

So, that was my first blind date. Last weekend, the prospect of another blind date reared its ugly head, and inexplicably, I jumped at the chance. I was at an event at the beach for work (yeah, my job is sooo rough), but no one attended this event, so I had a lot of time to kill. I started talking to a woman who does sea turtle rescue, and after about an hour of good conversation, she stops me mid-sentence and says, "My son would love you! He's 31, an attorney, and very cute. Can I have your card?" I obliged (almost gleefully so) and handed over my info.

Yesterday, the attorney called and asked me out for a drink. I ran around the apartment, full of nervous energy, changed my shirt five times because I wanted to wear the "right" thing. I mean, his mom and I totally hit it off, so he, obviously, was going to be my soul mate, right?

When I opened the door, I was a wee bit taken aback. Here's where you get to learn just how superficial I really am. For one, he looked much older than 31 -- not that I have any problem with age; my last "crush" was 53 -- and his super curly hair didn't do him many favors (it really was dangerously close to mullet territory). And he wore Sonny Crockett-esque wicker shoes. Immediately, I was not physically attracted to him at all.

We walk into the parking lot, and I ask, "Which car is yours?" to which he looks at me quizzically and directs me to the red sporty thing next to my green Ford Windstar minivan. It was only when we got to the bar that I realized that I had been riding around in a freaking Porsche. I'm totally not one of those girls who cares about what kind of car a guy drives; I'm simply uncomfortable around extreme wealth.

But that was forgotten when we settled into our wingback chairs at the cigar bar with some Stella Artois and Guiness. He was extremely down to earth and really funny. I admired that he quit working at a prestigious Miami Beach law firm to take some early retirement time and travel around the world. At one point, the lights came on in the bar, which really confused me. It turned out that the bar was closing and we had been talking for a solid five hours. I had no idea.

As we got closer to my apartment, I started to hatch my escape plan. Here I was, after a perfectly enjoyable evening, and I wanted to get as far away from this guy as possible. He pulled up in front of my place, and before he even put the car in "park," I was opening my door, saying, "Well, thank you for the night! Give me a call sometime!" But then he turned the car off, and got out, too, to walk me to my door (guys really are clueless sometimes). I kept a good six feet between us and didn't so much as shake hands with him as we said good night. When I got in, I saw that I had missed a call on my cellphone; the voicemail was from a bartender who had found the attorney's phone at the bar and called the last number dialed. I was a little bit happy that I had some assurance that he wouldn't be calling me, at least until he found his phone. I'm not a total shallow bitch; I did feel guilty for thinking that and fleeing him.

What have I learned in my dating endeavors? First, there has to be some physical attraction and no mullets for me to consider something more. More importantly, I just don't think I can have a relationship for a little while longer. I'm happier making out with some guy I just met at the beach, which I did on Wednesday. Again, I met a nice guy that was easy to talk to (and easy on the eyes), but this time, since we didn't meet in that most formal of institutions -- the Blind Date -- there wasn't any pressure. I mean, in all likelihood, I probably wasn't going to see this guy again. And that's fine by me. I very much enjoy just kissing someone who I know will never call me, or, god forbid, try to have a relationship.

I think it's just going to be me, Foxy, Hef, and Jezebel (the cat who lives under my bed) for a long time.